


Just the Beginning

by KellyLiz



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellyLiz/pseuds/KellyLiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie goes through a long labor and delivery with their first child. Darcy, of course, is glued to her side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started this in the first person, but felt the second person better showcased Lizzie’s confusion through the haze of her fatigue, pain, emotions and the Demerol.

You can feel the slight tension low in your core that signals another contraction is coming. You brace yourself for the pain and it builds more quickly this time until finally reaches its climax and starts to recede, allowing you to breathe. You can feel him take a breath again with you, and you squint open your eyes to look at him. He gives you his most reassuring look, to let you know everything’s okay. He’s careful to only touch parts of you, he can grasp your hand, rub your arm and smooth back your hair. But he can’t touch your distended stomach, the skin stretched taut and tight. You gave him the look the first time he tried.

The nurse bustles back in, carrying something you don’t bother to focus on. “We need to put the fetal monitor on for awhile,” she states in that phony, cheerful voice that is (way past) starting to grate on you. She sets something down next to you on the bed and then pulls a belt tightly against your abdomen. You grit your teeth as even the light pressure is annoying and resist the urge to smack her hands away as she continues to adjust it. You assume she is watching it for a few minutes. You close your eyes to rest between contractions. 

You are so tired. You didn’t get any sleep last night, and William drove you to the hospital at 2:00 a.m. The first nurse checked your stats and you found out you were 2 centimeters dilated and 20% effaced. After a couple of hours of continued contractions and no change, they sent you home to rest. You want to know in what universe anyone can rest with these fucking contractions hitting roughly every three minutes. 

You came back in the late morning and almost cried when nurse #2, your current nurse, told you that you were still at 2 centimeters and were now 40% effaced. You went to labor and delivery classes, you understand what that means. Your body is slow and obviously is only willing to work at one thing at a time. Despite hours of pain, all that’s happened is the cervix is thinning, not opening further, just _thinning_. The class taught you this is common with first babies. The class taught you many other things too, like how impossible it is to pass a 7 or 8 pound human being out of your little body. Well, maybe they actually hadn’t said that, but you saw the delivery films and you know it won’t work. Humans have big heads. Human babies also have big heads. William had laughed when you panicked on the way home after that class, insisting the baby could not possibly fit and would have to stay inside you forever.

“Your head is too big,” you open your eyes to tell him and you see that the worry in his eyes is replaced by amusement. He has no trouble following your thoughts. It’s pretty amazing considering neither of you could figure out anything about the other’s feelings at one point.

Your body signals another contraction is on the way and you tense. It helps to envision a ladder, you are climbing the ladder with the pain as it builds, trying to reach the top. Once the pain reaches its high point you can slide down the ladder smoothly as the pain slowly ebbs. You think about your baby. She is being tightly squeezed each time you are. The class said it doesn’t hurt the baby, that it’s helpful in pushing the liquid out of her lungs. That sounds painful to you. The baby kicks sometimes between contractions but never during the contractions. Poor baby, being squeezed to death.

“The baby’s fine, Lizzie,” William says. You guess you said that out loud.

“Doing okay?” William asks. He knows to only communicate what is essential. He had tried to talk to you to help take your mind off the pain earlier. You had kept your eyes shut and grunted until he said, “You don’t want me to talk, do you?” You just nodded. Even listening takes energy. You need to conserve all your energy. Somehow your body knows this, that you have a long way to go before this will be over. You nod now to his question and he smoothes your hair from your forehead. 

“Does she still need the fetal monitor?” he asks the nurse, and if you weren’t exhausted and conserving all energy, you would kiss him. He’s your voice and your shield. He keeps unnecessary concerns and people out and he asks the questions you need to be asked. You didn’t want anyone but him there during labor and delivery. Not your sisters, sister-in-law, bestie or your mother. Only him. It took a few arguments for you to persuade some people that you would be most comfortable with just William to help you. You love them, but you cannot deal with other people during this. They can pile in taking up space and energy and attention once the baby decides to make her appearance and you are done with the hard part.

“Just for a few more minutes,” the nurse trills and you wish you could kick her. You can feel William’s hand on your hair tense a little and you know he wants to get a different nurse. You talked to him about this after a birthing class, when you explained you did not want him to throw his weight (or his money’s weight (“our money” he’d reminded you)) around just because he can. Now you’re not so sure that was a good idea.

William tries to get you to drink some water. You can’t, but you suck on some ice chips. Your mouth feels so dry from panting. You don’t need to eat. The class taught you that your body doesn’t want to waste energy digesting food. William’s body needs food. You know he won’t leave you to eat. You packed some nuts and granola bars for him and you mumble something to remind him. “I know, Lizzie,” he answers. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat when I’m hungry.”

Another nurse comes in and she’s dragging something behind her. “The doctor ordered an IV for you. You’re dehydrated and it has some Demerol in it to take the edge off the pain.” She pokes your hand and you’re attached to a long tube which leads up to a clear bottle. She checks you again and cheerfully tells you that you are now 80% effaced, but you only care that your cervix is still only dilated to 2 cm. You still have 8 cm to go. William squeezes your hand in commiseration.

You are happy when you find that Demerol is a miracle drug and that you can almost doze between contractions. The contractions themselves are easier to take and you don’t have to tense every muscle in your body when they hit. Your mind drifts between contractions. William sits quietly next to you, and you know he is texting updates to all you love. He’s been giddy since you found out you were pregnant. He’s also a bit of a nag—making sure you eat well, exercise and sleep enough. He loves your body pregnant, thinks your new curves are beautiful and sexy which makes you feel like less of a mammoth klutz. It helps that he is so much bigger than you, he carries you up the stairs when you are tired and he is careful to use his forearms to hold his weight off your stomach when he is on top of you. He is less thrilled about the six-week moratorium for sex after the birth. When he found out, he had stuttered, “But Lizzie, we’ve never gone more than---“ , and you interrupted “I can be there for you in other ways, you know,” which made him shoot you a grateful look and then become more fervent in the meantime. The green-light date will be highlighted on his calendar, exactly 42 days from the baby’s birth. It probably already is. He’s nothing if not efficient. He’ll have guessed the baby will be born sometime tonight. You’ll tease him that the baby was born in the evening (you’ve already given up the thought she’ll come soon, but you’re clinging to the hope it will happen _today_ ), and he’ll remind you that partial days count. You are not cruel and won’t tell him yet about the special outfit you’ve already bought for that date, and that Gigi has promised to baby-sit.

The nurse only comes in periodically now, since you are more comfortable and your body is evidently in no hurry to get this baby out. You never realized how inefficient your body is. The fetal monitor is blessedly absent too. You think of your daughter’s name, Anne after William’s mother. You were surprised how thrilled Will was when you found out your baby is a girl. He’s going to be even more outnumbered with you and Anne and Gigi. He had laughed and told you he’d be happy with any child you had, but he is really hoping for a girl with your liveliness. You wonder if he’ll still think that when she is four and builds a town out of blocks in his closet and uses all his ties as the paths between the houses.

You realize a lot of time has passed and you wonder if the Demerol has all been used up because the contractions hurt more. Will runs to get your nurse, and she takes her time before she comes in to check your stats. She is surprised (though you’re not) when she finds you are now 100% effaced and dilated to 9 cm. Your water has still not broken and she goes to call your doctor. Your doctor is not really your doctor, who is sick, but your doctor’s partner who you only met once. You don’t know her but you have no choice but to trust her. William tells you he loves you for about the hundredth time today, but you don’t mind.

The pace of the contractions has picked considerably up by the time the doctor arrives. She carries a wicked-looking long sharp thing that looks like a big knitting needle. You don’t have to look at William to know how scared his face is when he sees it. One poke, and your water is broken. The doctor checks you. You’re getting tired of people touching you there, but that’s a minor irritant next to these newer stronger contractions. She says you are at 10 cm, ready to push. Apparently the baby will need many pushes and the nurse and William encourage you to push when your next contraction hits. You find pain makes you able to push really hard.

Contractions and pushing continues and nothing seems to change. You can see the contractions lining up in a row, ready to punch you one at a time. Your head falls back against the propped bed each time in the dwindling space between contractions. You realize that you should be worrying. When you are able to open your eyes, you notice William is looking distraught. Your heart clenches and you know he will worry for you, and you let it go to concentrate on putting everything behind every push.

Time must have passed because there is a new nurse on shift. Nurse #3 has a brisk, competent air and she marches in looking ready to reach in and haul this baby out with her bare hands. You decide competence is overrated when the nurse insists you push from so many different positions, on your hands and knees, kneeling, leaning forward, whatever—none of them helps the baby come out and they make you more exhausted. The doctor is checking in on you and you hear the nurse tell her that you are strong and pushing really hard and the baby has not budged. You hear William ask her what this means, but another contraction is coming and you stop listening.

More pushing ensues. You know William is more distressed by his breathing. You want to reassure him, but you just don’t have anything to spare. You always like to be in control, but you have no idea what you are doing, and your body seems to have a plan. You have to relinquish any thoughts of being in charge and just go along for the ride. You wonder if parenting will be any different. The contractions are closer together now. You can feel a new one starting when the last one is still subsiding. The nurse is next to you and you hear her say that the doctor is going to deliver the baby with forceps.

Everything speeds up. The nurse throws up your gown and splashes you in iodine, or something liquid that leaves a orange tinge on your skin. The prep is so fast, and before you know it, your feet are in stirrups and the doctor is putting huge salad tongs inside you. There is no room, there’s the baby’s head and now these huge forceps and the pain is excruciating. Every muscle in your body is straining and you scream and you feel William’s agony matches yours. The doctor gets a grip on the baby’s head and orders you to push. You can comply because it helps the pain to do something. You feel the strongest tug as your baby is being pulled out of you. Her head is out, her hair is dark. The relief is huge. You can’t see her because her face is down, and the doctor is checking her airway. She asks you to push one more time, and you push really hard not realizing the rest of the baby comes out much easier than the head. The baby flies out and the doctor has to catch her. She sets the baby on your stomach, and she’s slippery and you say “Will!” and he is there to help catch the baby before she slides off. She is purple and screaming and the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. 

The doctor is stitching you up, she says something about the baby’s shoulder tearing you when you pushed the baby out so quickly but you aren’t paying attention. You look at William and he smiles at you. The only smile as happy you’ve ever seen from him was on your wedding day. The nurse takes the baby and cleans her off and hands her back to you, swaddled in a little white blanket. The baby—Anne—is warm and quiet now and her eyes are curiously looking around the room. She looks a bit like William, she has dark hair and olive skin except when she looks directly at you and then you see eyes like your own. You look up at your husband. You think his eyes are misty but you can’t tell since yours are frankly blurry with tears. “She’s beautiful,” he says and there’s a reverence in his voice that floors you. You remember the birthing class taught you that mass quantities of endorphins are released after the baby’s birth, and you don’t know if it’s that or the absence of so much pain or the fact that you are a mother to the most beautiful baby and her father is the love of your life, but you’ve never felt so good in your entire life.

You and Will are talking, the words spilling out in your shared happiness and the baby lies in your arms. The doctor is still stitching, and the shot she gave you to numb the area (which you barely felt because the contractions had _stopped_ ) must have worn off because you flinch and William asks her how much longer it will be. “Almost done,” she responds. The nurse has to take the baby to measure and check and you anxiously wait until you get her back again. It’s weird that you and she are now separate after all these months together. William is by your side, stroking your arm. “How do you feel, Lizzie?” he quietly asks. And you can honestly answer you feel amazing. You think nothing can get better, but when the nurse brings Anne back and you see William’s face when he holds her for the first time, you realize this is just the beginning.


End file.
